As a cowgirl, I would dare say I venerate most bull riders. However, those riders who abstain from wearing protective head gear for the sake of looking "tough", are quite foolish. It's usually the impetuous cowboy who ends up getting hurt.

Late at night when the castle slept, the scrawny little scullion would swing his mop and drift off into dreams of slaying dragons and leading armies. Only the all-too-real, unpleasantness of the cleaning cupboard and it's intense scent of mothballs would bring the imp named Arthur back to his mundane reality. Well, that and a box upon his ears by his guardian, Sir Ector, who would constantly encourage the boy to mitigate his hopeless dreams and make the floors sparkle and shine.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

If fingerprints showed up everywhere he'd touched, like fingerpaint on skin, she'd never be able to keep her secret. But she was lucky they didn't, because the way their bodies were drawn to each other by some electromagnetic force was something the world didn't yet need to know. Still the knowledge made her jitterbug on the inside, every time she imagined his touch.

There are times when right before my fangs break through the succulent skin, I attempt to guess the intense mingling of light and sound that will absorb into my dark soul. Yet as these wicked instruments of mine are instantly surrounded by that treasured syrup, I am reminded how every gorgeous life has it's own rare knit of thought and beauty. And I am simply an eternal moth that is forever trapped into an undying quest to engulf myself in that flickering flame.

I remember that surreal night when the dark shores delivered me to this land called Elliquiy. As I stared up at the cloud soaring pillars, I heard their deep whisper asking for my Introduction. Try as I might, I couldn't simply scale the walls as I had hoped, so this cynical creature filled out the proper forms and waited with nervous excitement for that wild moment of being elevated to the status of 'Approved'.

Being a split personality as it is some times called, I find myself channeling various different avenues in life. Memories of times past have seemingly been lost. However, merging the two back into one, is like a constant flow of nervousness and anticipation.

The delivery of 311,000 jello boxes came right on schedule. To prevent the shipment becoming prey to the lone vulture circling above, these countless boxes of blue powder were quickly moved into my very accommodating abode, just barely beating the rising sun. As the echo of the front doors closing rang through the castle walls, this dead creature happily pulled up his sheets within his box, thoughts flowing with devious plans for the wobbly substance.

While making sesame chicken the Chinese chef dropped several pans creating a loud racket. A rather large man sitting in the dinning room wearing a parka yelled at the waitress because of all the noise.

In a dank, forgotten about hoosegow sometime back in the early 1900s, a poor sap sleeping off a three day bender heard a faint whisper. Desperately, the slumbering creature tried to remain inside his dream, for he was only moments away from the highest ornamentation befitting a courageous officer. When the soft voice was joined by a tap upon his shoulder, the giant woke, ready to pummel whatever punk dared to wake him.. yet instantly upon staring into the stranger's eerily pale blue eyes, he realized life as he knew it would never be the same again.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

This morning she woke feeling such the curmudgeon, she knew she should lock the door to her bedroom, and hide inside. If she lingered near the floorboards, where the music always sounds the sweetest, perhaps she could ride out the waves that made her feel so ill-tempered. That sort of game plan would surely save the atmosphere outside from the gloom that was now seeping from her cold, ivory skin.

There were certain mornings when the creature of ice would sit under the blazing sun, hunched over to see what hue his melting drops would be. A hypnotic state would overtake the chilled being, until slowly a wave of consternation sent ripples cracking through the frozen synapses that held together his icy mind. Later in the day as the lyrical mood continued to buzz through his cold limbs, he knew soon the exercise would need to be repeated.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

Somehow only for him, the letters, words and phrases would fall into their places, taking up station in linear rows in rapt attention and anticipation. Even the font would glisten and shimmer, and the linen page would nearly hold its breath, lest one iota of ink be seen to smudge or run and mar the perfection. Soon he would arrive, take a sip, clear his throat and breathe deeply in preparation, before he read aloud with that velvet, sotto voice that every poetic word had long dreamed it would inhabit for its debut.

The small vial was full of liquid compulsion, the doctor later thought as he peered in the mirror at the scrapes and bruises that littered his dishevelled form. What other reason could there be for him to throw caution to the howling wind by tossing the murky potion down into his unsuspecting form? "Doctor Jeckyll", the terrifying voice growled from within, "yesss.. you.. it's time.. to listen to that illegitimate but ohhhhh so very real part of you that has always existed.. for yesssss, you pathetic worm.. I.. have now been awakened..."

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

Judging by the bright colors and rubbery look of the thing, she believed it to be synthetic, a concoction of perhaps blue and red jello and a generous dusting of granulated sugar. Still, he insisted that it was an authentic, live, segmented worm, and that she'd promised she'd eat whatever he proposed if she lost the bet. The power of suggestion made her tummy flip and her throat constrict, but she glared at him with the smallest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and bit down on the squiggle defiantly.

The sight of him was the provenience of her desire, welling up inside her heart until she thought she would faint from trying to hide it from him. She began to chatter rumbustiously, not even knowing what she was saying. She felt like a fool, and took a deep breath to steady her raging libido, and began to focus her words in order to woo him into her bed.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

The traumatic news of her death was so intense, he was crippled by a despair deeper than the abyssopelagic zone just above the ocean floor, and he couldn't help wishing he could escape to that very realm. If that were possible, his caterwaul of grief would remain his own private hell, rather than becoming fodder for the masses. The last thing he wanted was to hear the opinions and condolences of those who made the emotional upheaval of others their entertainment, for no matter the state of ennui a person might feel at their own uneventful existence, it was simply ill-mannered to feed off of the dark energy of another human's anguish.

It was later realized there was no other possible path for the lovely logophile, for even from the first time her little hands could hold a book, the wonder in her eyes as they caressed and absorbed each page was a mesmerizing sight that beckoned those near with awe and envy at such adoring passion. Yet even those early days couldn't prepare the parents of this magical soul for the first sounds that escaped their adorable little treasure's lips as every thought entered the air as a flawless pangram that spoke concisely and would caress the ears as a sweet song. It was then, as they looked deep inside the large indigo eyes of their little girl, they realized she was unlike any other that had been or ever would be.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

Her bitterness was a great black cloud of malevolence, in varied shades of blue-black night. Rather than fill, it hewed in her a cavernous void that echoed with moans of discontent. Sorrow seeped from every pore, until one fateful night the moon whispered a question that breathed into her heart, swirling like incense with it's hope and possibility.

The wizard grinned wickedly at the woman on her knees before him. "A mere conjurer never stood a chance against me," he spat, and she instinctively cowered still further, her arms straightening along the ground in supplication. "Please..." she whispered. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a look she had never seen cross his face before... perhaps pity? He approached her and raised his arms, his cloak throwing her into shadow. Little did he know that this was just the mistake the conjurer had hoped for, and in one desperate whispered spell, she disappeared into the darkness.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

The young novice cowered, petrified beneath the outcropping of rock as the conjurer beside her raised her arms to the sky. The ancient one cried out to the distended, looming cloud in supplication. Her eyes flashed like steel flint as lightning shimmered and beside her the young girl shivered in the shadow.

The wizard, looking out the lone window near the top of the tower he had shaped from heat and ore over years of grueling struggle with the earth and the elements, searched the fields and trees, darkening in the twilight. He knew there should be a sign. There had to be one. He had taken the intoxicant with his supper -- it would slowly and over many hours strip him of his usual senses and inhibitions, and leave his spirit receptive to omens. And he knew that there had to be an omen -- all of the other signs were there. He had felt the change in the energy of the elements, felt the change in the wind and the soil. The woman he long ago was forced to betray, the only conjurer who had ever dared trust him, the only magical creature that he had ever loved, was in danger. His last journey was about to begin.

Location: “...something about words...they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move they pierce your skin, enter your blood...Inside you they work their magic." -Setterfield

The wizard snapped awake, no longer idle was his mind,he cast about to see who spied him, quiet in the night.He did not care to think about how denizens unkindwould treat a wayward wizard who could not bring himself to fight.

It had long since passed that happy tidings had faded from his head,and now his only hopeful purpose in continuing this life,was to hope beyond hope that the one he loved was not really, truly dead.If not, his heart was lost, cut out by life's cruel knife.

The conjurer fair that he betrayed with his foolish quest for power,was now his quest, his life's only redemptive force,and if she retorted with monstrous rage and pushed him from his tower,he would fall in peace, redeemed at last, and streak back to the Source.